Bethyl Stories
by littleforestcat
Summary: A collection of short fiction written as part of Bethyl Week.
1. What Are You Hiding?

A/N: For Day 1 of Bethyl Week. I've never written anything for Bethyl before so if this is bad I'm super sorry! I had a bit of trouble coming up with an idea for this one, but I'm glad I finished it in time for the first day. :)

* * *

It was going to be dark soon. Around her the camp settled, the fading flicker of the campfire within her peripheral view. If she quickened her writing pace she'd have it all down before the light faded completely. On her lap lay a slightly damp strip of shiny paper, her slanted scrawl covering over half the page. She recounted the events of the day carefully in her head, which wasn't exactly extravagant, just more walking, resting, eating, sometimes chatting, and of course killing the dead.

Across the way next to Rick, just barely recognizable in the low lighting, sat Daryl in conversation. She couldn't hear his voice from this distance and he doubted he noticed her, but she smiled anyway. She remembered earlier that day how he came up behind her as she was hanging up clothes to dry and nuzzled her hair clumsily, yet playfully . It was only a few stolen seconds, but she still remembered feeling her heart drop and her cheeks flush pleasantly while Rosita eyed them curiously nearby. Neither of them even bothered to contain their grins, and in that moment she couldn't either as she scribbled the event down quickly.

She began noticing that change in him. It came slowly, little by little. Daryl was more open now, different, but a new different, a good different. As much as she was fine keeping things low-key between them once their relationship status upgraded, she couldn't help but feel thrilled at how much he ended up showing in front of everyone. It wasn't even close to flaunting gestures of affection, or nothing near a fearful glance around to see if anyone spotted them. It was just normal, his kind of normal, a normal he wasn't afraid to display because it was a normal he had never gotten before.

Sure at times it was messy and uncertain and fumbling, but it was him and he was trying. There was an unsteadiness still of his hand as it sometimes grasped hers a little too tightly when they walked side by side on the road, his fingers trying to find the best way to lay against hers until finally she had to clench her whole hand around his to stop them, fixed his fingers until they were between hers. She didn't miss his flush, but that was normal, and she smiled back evenly.

All these things he did she began secretly writing about, all neatly inked on her makeshift diary pages (which ended up being nothing but pieces of cardboard from boxed food or the back of food labels since finding a diary for her wasn't exactly top priority right now, and she didn't ask or complain). She enjoyed writing about him, pondering his personality and quirks. Sometimes when it was especially quiet at night, she would take out a page and re-read it with the dim glow of an old book-light she had found, while he lay totally oblivious beside her in sleep.

She was surprised at how easy it really was to keep these snippets of her day tucked away from everyone, although the time for her to sit down and actually write them were getting less and less. Usually she only wrote in the evening, or in the early morning before anyone woke up. It helped, writing everything down, pretending she had a diary again.

Hearing a snap come from behind, she looked up and noticed Daryl was not in his spot anymore. She instinctively folded up her piece of paper quickly (which was really the back of a canned corn label she's carefully ripped off the can) and shoved it in her pocket. Just then she felt his presence beside her, settling in closely with a leftover piece of rabbit on a skewer in one hand.

He was motioning for her to take it but she shook her head. "No, I'm not hungry." She suddenly felt a little nervous with him being so near, afraid he'd seen her with the page. Perhaps he could sense it.

He shrugged and took a large bite, and the words she dreaded to hear from him came out. "So what're you hiding in your pocket, Greene?"

Beth tensed and looked away, feeling his gaze not on her face, but on her jean pocket. It was too late. She couldn't move away now.

"It's nothing...just litter I picked up from the ground." She tried pathetically, knowing he wouldn't believe such an obvious lie. But she still tried making a gesture that it was indeed nothing but that.

"Hm.." was all Daryl said, returning back to his rabbit. His face was unreadable, one ability he was able to achieve better than she could.

The silence between them stretched on and on. So long that Beth was beginning to relax as she watched others moving around the camp, zipping up their tents to go to sleep, or heading off for first watch duty. Perhaps he started to think nothing of it. Until:

"It's got your handwriting on it," he commented, now peering at her with that small smirk. Beth felt her shoulders lower in defeat. Looking down at her side, she cursed herself for the fact that the piece of paper was sticking halfway out, words like 'adorable' and breath-taking' stood out and before she had a chance to do anything, his hand went straight for her pocket, pulling the paper out and high above him when she let out a squeal and reached to try and snatch it back. "Daryl, don't!"

"You keepin' secrets from me? Didn't take you for that type," he said, grinning widely as he dropped his skewer to place one hand against her outstretched arm and the other managing to unfold the paper. His eyes only needed to briefly scan the bottom of the paper before his grin dropped slightly and he realized what she had been writing. Letting her arm go, the force of her struggle had her tumbling into his side, her face red as he let her take the page.

Settling herself upright again, she smoothed it out gently, thankful that only some of the words got smudged and none of it tore. She finally turned her gaze to his and blinked when she was met with an intense stare, one that was hesitant, sheepish. She could tell he now felt bad about him prying, but she gave him a reassuring smile, blushing again.

"I just...can't help but write things down now. I miss my diary a little," she murmured, hugging her knees to her chest and sighing. She thought she wouldn't need a diary anymore, as she could just as easily talk about anything to Daryl and he'd listen.

She felt his arm move around her then, tugging her closer to him, so close she felt his breath in her ear. "Didn't know you wanted a diary that badly. I'll get you one, Beth." His voice was kind and soothing, and she felt her heart drop again.

She was about to shake her head and tell him it wasn't important, but he gave her that sharp, stubborn look and she couldn't say no. So she just nodded and closed her eyes, clutching the note to her again as her nose nudged into his chest warmly. They were silent again for a while before she lightly punched his arm.

"Only if you promise not to read it."

"Right, I promise."


	2. Bites

**Day 2: Red**

* * *

Daryl tried to ignore the burning sensation in one of his legs as they kept at their pace, just barely passing through another field before heading for the cover of forest. They'd been traveling down a route for the past hour, hopefully keeping them further away from the threat of growls and moans dragging unsteadily behind them. It had become almost routine now, him and her, running every day almost as soon as they woke up in the morning. But that was their life now, it seemed.

It was late afternoon by the time they gave into rest, both exhausted and eager for the little meal he'd managed to catch that morning. It obviously wasn't much, but something.

"At least it sounds like we lost 'em?" Beth spoke up brightly, sitting across from him around a hastily thrown together fire. But Daryl wasn't listening to her. One arm was braced at his side as he leaned on it, while the other wound tightly around the bottom of his leg, fingers grasping at the fabric to reach the slightly raised skin underneath. It itched like hell, but there was nothing to be done.

Their proximity always shortened as night fell, agreeing some time ago that was the best way to keep warm as the autumn slowly approached. Usually while he kept watch she'd be curled up near him, her forehead lightly grazing his side while he sat, still as stone against a trunk.

She'd been ready to do the same tonight, though she also seemed to be going through the same problem he was: itching.

"You'll only make it worse," he grumbled, even though he himself was every so often scratching at some place around his knee. He should be used to this by now, but those damn bugs seemed to like attacking in swarms. And the discomfort was always the same.

"Yeah, like you can talk!" She spat back irritably, going for a few of the bites on her calf. The small, red circles she didn't have the day before stood out bright and tauntingly. She scratched so much she thought she would bleed any moment until Daryl finally swatted her hands away from her pestered ankle, frowning.

"You'll scar the skin if you keep at it..." He said, deciding not to notice her split second surprise at the touch.

"I don't care, I hate these things!" In that moment she didn't care if she was being a baby about all of this. Getting bit by chiggers was far better than getting bit by walkers by several long shots, but she was exhausted, still hungry, and frustrated that neither one of them could do anything about this right now.

"Just don't think about it," he finally said, his tone a bit softer now, "and go to sleep."

Trying to ignore the throbbing around her ankle, Beth finally relented. After situating her pant legs so that at least some of the bites could feel the breeze, she curled up in her position next to him, hoping she'd forget about the bites soon. She fell asleep to the sound of steady breathing and, to her amusement, his dirty nails scratching against skin.


	3. No More Fairy Tales

A/N: From this chapter onward the prompts will be out of order because some days I just couldn't get myself to write. This one was a tricky and strange one, but I hope it makes sense. :)

**Day 4: Enchanted**

* * *

She thought a noise must have startled her from sleep. Dank, misty air filled in around her as the hard springs from an old bed met her aching back. The only light source was a long candle to her right, flickering lazily and casting unfamiliar shadows around the room.

Except this place was familiar to her now. It had been for a little over two weeks, or at least Beth felt that span of time was accurate. She was constantly cold in such a place, and equally unaware of what these people wanted with her. Surely they were good people, surely they wouldn't hurt her, surely...

She tried to keep a level head even though fear overtook her sometimes, being huddled in a room that constantly felt like it was shrinking. At night (or day, she could never actually tell), she barely slept because all she could think about was _him_ and if he was still alive and of course he was because she never wanted to give up on people, especially not him.

As she lay on her side, shivering but still breathing on the start of the third week, Beth let memories of before the turn take over briefly. She remembered the little girl who would cry for a princess dress, the bright pink one from Sleeping Beauty. She remembered how she'd recheck herself in the mirror obsessively, spending more time than was necessary on her looks even when there'd be nobody around to appreciate it, being on a farm. Her mama would read her The Frog Princess every night before she'd fall asleep to the image of a handsome prince in her dreams.

Of course, she eventually knew they were make believe. No such thing as princes or princesses where they lived.

Her image of an ideal prince had always been the same though: tall, light-haired, fair, with green eyes that reminded her of an enchanted forest. When life on the farm got boring and monotonous, she'd imagine the prince taking her far away, saving her from that life, a life that she now wished she had back so desperately. She might have been like any other teenage girl, so naive and in their own little world wanting more than they had. But wasn't that how it was supposed to be?

Another day had passed, and another. Three more. She couldn't quite tell anymore. All she could tell was that her imaginary bubble had broken for good the moment her feet left the prison. Her prince was a laughing stock now, distorted, unwelcome, replaced. There was no more time for fairy tale stories, no more time pretending that life would be the same as it had in her silly girl dreams. She had no prince anymore. She only had _him._ Daryl Dixon: rough, dirty, dark-haired, with eyes that didn't remind her of a fairy tale forest, but a new life she could achieve in this ended world.

The little window high above her bed was clouded with rain. A new candle and flame would be replaced soon, and food will follow after, a small meal of a canned vegetable she barely tasted anymore, stale crackers, and water. 'Today is the day,' she thought strongly, 'today I will make it out. I have to.' She didn't have time anymore to wait until they finally did something with her. She'd been tired of always waiting around. Pulling her sweater tighter against herself, she feigned sleep as the heavy door creaked open slowly.

She'd finally left her fairy tale behind at some point. All she had to do now was run.


End file.
